


in one breath

by foundation



Series: There Is a Flag, There Is No Wind [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Character Death(s), Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundation/pseuds/foundation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The love between Mica and Arivae was forged as a God set fire to the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in one breath

**Author's Note:**

> Mica and Arivae are original characters inspired by two of my inquisitors. In this universe they work as an assassin and spy for the inquisition respectively. In this universe Petyr Wintertouch Trevelyan is Inquisitor who is featured in this and another story in this series. This story is set post trespasser and during the war with Solas.
> 
> Basically me and Tink created a whole new dragon age game because senioritis.

i. AMBER

Night is falling over Skyhold. 

Darkness spills like ink over the courtyard. Tired soldiers head to the barracks, the tavern burns bright with light and music. The night air is weighted with the taste of spring rain, acidic and heavy on the tongue. 

Under the dark rumbling clouds, small purple flowers begin to bloom. 

. . .

Mica sits on the banister of his overlook. Perched, he looks out onto the mountains. The coming storm clouds reflected in the dark amber of his eyes. 

With a heavy sigh he rolls his head back. He lets his eyes slip shut; opening his mouth he tastes the acidic air as it rolls over his tongue. 

“I miss him.” 

Mica doesn’t jump. One wrong move and he’s going to be another stain on Skyhold’s stone. 

“Hi, Cole.” 

Cole appears next to Mica on the banister. Mica let’s his eyes open up, he looks over at Cole, a smile stretches his painted black lips as he sees the new purple flowers that have been growing being tied into a small crown by Cole’s dexterous fingers. 

“You’re sad. But you shouldn’t be sad anymore. The storm’s gone.” Cole says, his weaving becoming frantic. 

“The storm’s right there Cole,” Mica tilts his chin up at the rumbling storm clouds. 

“No, not that one. That one’s a good one, it makes the flowers grow.” Cole says, shaking his head. “You like the flowers. Mamae used to braid them into my hair, Tali was always jealous. Didn’t she know that if she asked Mamae would put the flowers in her hair too? Blue to match her eyes. Did it hurt when they died?” 

“Stop.” Mica whispers. 

Cole quiets. He looks up from the now finished flower chain in his hands; his milky blue eyes find Mica. Gently he places the flowers in Mica’s loose hand. 

“How do you miss someone who’s still here?” Cole says. “He is so close and so far. Are his eyes more yellow or more brown? The color of whiskey, the color of fall in Perendale. What if I forget?” 

Thunder cracks in the distance, wind rushes toward them. Mica’s long blonde hair spills like gold around him. 

“Where is he now?” Mica asks.

“His room,” Cole leans forward. “He wants you to come.” 

Mica smiles and grabs Cole’s hand. He squeezes it weakly. 

“Maybe tomorrow.” Mica says. “You can tell him that.” Cole smiles and with a blink, he’s gone. 

Mica looks down at the flowers in his hand. A knot forms deep in his chest, hot and heavy pulling down his heart. His eyes start to burn with tears, running down hot on his face. 

He lets the small crown of flowers drift through his fingers, swept away by the wind. 

. . . 

 

The love between Mica and Arivae was forged as a God set fire to the sky. 

Mica remembers the night in Redcliffe; they sit in the same tavern where time ripped at itself, the tavern where Dorian and Felix last looked into each other’s eyes. The tavern where Petyr saw the damage in Dorian’s heart and thought, this man, is braver and stronger than I will ever be, not knowing that Dorian had earlier thought the same. 

They sit back in the shadows, where the minstrel’s song cannot reach them. 

They sit where none can see the tears in the corners of Arivae’s eyes. 

Mica glares at anyone who dares to step close. Those whose curiosity over the Inquisition’s pet assassin overcomes their fear of the daggers strapped to him. Their fear of the dark promise that shines faintly from the depths of his amber eyes stops them in their tracks. 

Arivae drinks the strongest whiskey the tavern has. Hidden under dust and ale, it’s contents nearly evaporated with age. The liquid burns his throat, his tall, wiry body convulses with coughs. Mica watches with a sharp eye, careful for it to not tip over the edge. 

But, for once, Mica doesn’t deny Arivae his tears.

“I’m sorry.” Arivae murmurs. Mica and him now sit on one of the abandoned docks. The laughter and music and bright and smiles grew too strong for the two to stand. 

“You don’t have to be,” Mica says. The night has turned his eyes black. “No one’s first job is easy.”

“I thought he couldn’t hurt me anymore,” Arivae whispers. 

“You were part of the Fenmyelan, it is understandable, after being that close to him, that you are still affected.” Mica says. “He will always be able to hurt you, but I will teach you how to never let it show.” 

Arivae turns to look at Mica. His eyes shine huge in the moonlight. 

“Promise?” Arivae’s voice wavers, his youth never more apparent. 

“I promise.” Mica swears. 

The two fall silent, their eyes still locked onto one another. 

“I miss my clan,” The admission bursts out of Arivae. 

Mica stays silent. 

“I never said goodbye,” Arivae continues. “I didn’t say goodbye to any of them.”

“Arivae,” Mica begins.

“Where is your family?” Arivae cuts him off, the honesty and need choking in his voice. “What are they like?” 

Mica says nothing. Not even Alia knows this painful truth, he only knows there is an unmovable weight on Mica’s heart.

Mica has lied to both Josephine and Petyr about this. He has smothered sparks of curiosity under sneered lies. 

Mica can see dried tear tracks on Arivae’s skin in the moonlight. 

“They died.” Mica says. 

Arivae’s brow furrows. 

“Your clan, they visited, I remember -” 

“I wasn’t always an Arlanan,” Mica says, the truth, so long hidden and unspoken is slow to leave. He stutters over his words, like a child first reading aloud. “There was a time my name was Eleros.” 

“Eleros,” Arivae tastes the word as it dances over his tongue. 

“We traveled the desert on the border of Nevarra and Antiva,” Mica says. “We would sell water to travellers. Young Orlesians who fancied themselves explorers. It was good.” 

“What changed?” Arivae says, what had started as a hunger to forget what he was going through has transformed into genuine curiosity. 

Mica opens his mouth to continue; only a choked noise escapes his throat. 

Behind them the noise from the tavern fades away as the moon crawls towards the horizon. Arivae shifts his hand over to Mica, their cool fingertips touch. 

“We -” 

“You don’t have to.” Arivae says. 

“Petyr asked me,” Mica says. “I didn’t tell him the truth.” 

“Why?” Arivae asks. 

“Because I have never told anyone,” Mica says. “And it didn’t feel right for him to be the first to hear it.” 

Mica understands too well the way wanted truths poison forming bonds. 

“We decided to move to Rivain.” Mica continues. “Our clan was growing, and the desert isn’t a place to live. We were trying to make it to Wycome so we get on a boat to Llomerynn. We managed to get to Ansburg.” 

Arivae’s hand settles on top of Mica’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Arivae whispers. 

The apology loses its bitterness in the dawn light. Arivae felt the selfishness of it deep in him. He wanted Mica to keep talking, to dig up the bones of his life and spread them out for Arivae, to allow him to pick at the meat that still clung to them like a vulture. He wanted to gaze at the depth of horribleness of Mica’s tragedy. 

If only to forget for a little longer. 

. . .

ii. ASH

Mica learned vengeance by the heat of fire.

. . . 

Erelos Clan was small yet big. They could trace back their ancestors to the Exalted March on the Dales. They had remained one clan, never bringing in a faltering one, or splitting into smaller, incomplete pieces. 

The wandered the desert at the base of The Hundred Pillars. They were shrouded figures, their eyes gleaming like jewels in the nights. 

Travelers spoke in hushed whispers of how they appeared to the most desperate, skins of water strapped to their waists. They spoke of how they guard the only oasis in the desert. 

They reached too high, gold weighing down their pockets. Their gleaming eyes turning to a future. 

Among them, Mica Erelos dreamed of a home of his own. Of what it would be like to sleep under a roof and not the churning night sky. 

They reached the Free Marches. The grass and mud and hostile stares propelling them toward the promise of a distant island that did not reject their kind. 

Mica learned to slip through trees as silently as the sand dunes that he once called home. 

. . .

It is only by chance that his entire family dies. 

They stopped to rest outside of Ansburg. Keeper Gaelathebane tells them to plan to stay for a few weeks. 

Soon, Mica is asked to go hunting. It the first time he had been trusted to go alone. 

He cannot hide his smile. 

. . .

The Shems that found them were young. Stumbling upon a group of elves larger than they had ever seen. The air tasted of the sharp bite of magic. The Shems ran on shaking legs back to their city, crying out about an entire clan of Dalish mages. 

“They’ve come to destroy Ansburg!” 

The panic of Ansburg was all consuming. The townspeople ran to the templars, begging on their knees. They pictured fire in the streets, they pictured the death of their ways, they couldn’t imagine going on living with this clan so close to them.

The Templars mustered up their arms. They marched. 

No one saw the gleam in all of their eyes. Not yet red, but not kind. They were heroes where before the city called them a nuisance - nothing happened in Ansburg, why must the Templars interfere in their lives?

Glory had never reached their borders.

These Templars wanted to taste it for themselves. 

. . .

Mica is returning, a deer heaved over his shoulder. He smiles now, so when he returns he may be somber, he dreamed that this is what would make them see him as an adult. He dreamed of the sharp bite of Vallaslin. 

It is only when he’s close does he smell it. 

The smoke is thick in his throat as he runs through fire. Trees burn bright like torches all around him. The flames lick at his skin branding his skin bright red. 

He came upon the clearing where his clan once stood, the fire roars, deafening Mica as he stares in horror. Corpses littered the ground, their skin peeling and bubbling black and cracking in the heat. The smell of flesh and burned hair and ash chokes him. 

Mica vomits from the sight.  
. . .

He ran through the ash, pursued by one lone Templar who returned to make sure the job had been completed. 

“You can’t run Knife-ear!” The ugly, twisted scream came from behind him. Mica stumbled on burned and bloody feet through the woods, biting his lip to keep from crying out. 

An arrow whistled past him, catching him in the arm. He cried out, falling on the still hot earth. Chuckling, the Templar comes up behind him; he pressed Mica’s face down in the smoldering coals with his heavy boot. 

Mica screamed, the heat of it burning the side of his face, he squeezed his eyes shut, fear paralyzing him. 

He screamed as his hair melted, he screamed as soot buried itself in his eyes. 

He screamed as he felt everything inside himself turn to ash.

. . .

iii. PROMISE

Mica falls in love so quickly; he doesn’t even feel the descent.

. . .

Arivae and him are only meant to be gone an hour. The two walk through the snow covered fields of the Emprise, their hands drift closer and closer together as they go. The morning sun turns the falling snowflakes to diamonds. 

“I have never seen so much snow,” Arivae smiles as they wander. 

“One day,” Mica promises in the sunrise. “I’ll show you to all the wonders Thedas has to offer.”

“Promise?” Arivae teases, on light feet he bounces in front on Mica, halting them into stillness. 

Mica smiles and pulls Arivae down into a kiss. The air between them burning hot in the cold. Arivae giggles, wrapping his hands around Mica’s waist he pulls their bodies flush together. Their armor clinking together, Mica deepens the kiss, pushing himself onto his tiptoes and wrapping his arms around Arivae’s neck. 

The two pull apart. Mica’s eyes open slowly, and smiles. 

“I promise, ma alas’en.”

. . .

The sun has fixed itself into the sky. The cool sunshine making Arivae and Mica squint as they finish their patrol. 

The quiet shatters as from the distant tree line bursts six warriors of Fen’Harel. They glow with unbridled magic, rapidly approaching Mica and Arivae. 

The two draw their weapons quickly. Mica’s double bladed daggers shining under the sun, Arivae’s staff is coiled with lighting ready to be released. Mica rushes off to meet the advancing force, the cool shiver of a barrier settling down over him. 

The battle should’ve been over quickly. There is a reason that Mica and Arivae are two of the three daggers that Alia wields against his and the Inquisition’s enemies. They are a force on their own; together they are an unmovable wall. 

Mica is sinking one of his daggers into the neck of one of the last warriors when he hears Arivae’s scream. 

Mica rips his dagger free, his eyes flicker across the bloodstained field for Arivae. 

Arivae’s body is limp in the arms of the largest warrior on the field, with no struggle Arivae is thrown across a shoulder, the warrior turns to the tree line. 

“Arivae!” Mica screams, already running towards him. From the tree line, reinforcements burst out, the three’s weapons already drawn against Mica. He screams Arivae’s name, over and over as he is swarmed, daggers a blur of obsidian. 

A spell finds its mark. It strikes his shoulder sending him hurdling backwards onto the ground, a sword quickly following; it embeds itself in his leg and pins him to the ground. 

He screams, blood speckling his teeth. 

The twisted face of his attacker leans over him. 

“Na din’an sahlin!” The elf shouts in his face, twisting the sword in his leg, Mica’s scream growing in volume. 

The Elf’s face twists in sick pleasure, and just as he raises the sword out of Mica’s leg to impale his chest, an arrow shoots through the air, landing in his neck.  
Mica gulps in air, the edges of his vision disappearing into darkness. Above him, Alia appears, dressed in his battle armor, golden plate shining like a beacon. 

His eyes are more distant and cold then Mica has ever seen them, and this, more than anything else, causes Mica’s heart to stutter with fear. 

“Ir abelas,” Alia whispers as Mica slips into unconsciousness. 

. . .

iv. QUIET

Dawn creeps over Lake Calenhad, the light cuts through the mist hanging above the water. 

. . .

He wakes up in a small Redcliffe inn as Arivae wraps his tall frame around Mica. Mica jolts; he has never seen Arivae this close before. Mica’s eyes greedily soak in every freckle, the small scar in the corner of his eye, his long black hair curls and gets stuck to the corner of his mouth. 

Mica is breathless. He reaches out and runs his fingertips down Arivae’s cheek, tracing the vallaslin. Arivae’s eyes flutter open. He smiles as his eyes meet Mica’s. 

“Hi.” Arivae whispers. 

“Hi.” Mica answers. Arivae dissolves into giggles and twists his fingers with Mica’s, pushing his body even closer to Mica’s.

“Thank you.” Arivae says. 

“It wasn’t exactly a hardship,” Mica laughs.

“No, that’s not what – that’s not what I meant!” Arivae blushes as Mica laughs. “Just, I don’t know you made me feel special, so thank you, don’t be an ass about it.” 

“Sorry,” Mica says. He tucks his head into the long curve of Arivae’s neck. He presses a kiss to the honey brown skin. 

“It was special for me too,” Mica whispers. 

Arivae presses his face into Mica’s hair, beaming with joy.

 

. . .

v. ENDURE

The snow has begun to melt and Arivae has been dead for three days. 

. . .

Mica stays in the infirmary for a week after he lets Arivae slip through his fingers until he is nothing more than another scar on Mica’s heart. He cries what feels like constantly. His eyes burn, his skin is tight with dried salt. 

Everyone comes to visit him. The Bull sits by his bed the first morning, size dwarfing the small stool he has been given. They don’t speak. Bull looking at him with a knowing and heavy gaze. Bull knows the blame that is already tearing at his very core. Mica slips away, asleep. When he awakes, Bull is gone, but his hand is warm. 

Dorian visits him next, although Mica never knows. Dorian hovers in the doorway as Mica sleeps, stepping closer to Mica’s bed as he begins to thrash with nightmares. 

Dorian presses a hand against his forehead and says a small spell of peace, slowly, Mica stills again falling back into sleep. 

Petyr visits the fourth day, back from the front lines that are barely holding Solas’s forces back. Mica sits up when he enters, the respect he feels still strong enough to motivate him to move when nothing else can. 

“Mica,” His rumbling accent fills the small room, so far away from the quiet musical lilt Arivae possessed. The mix of Elvhen and Nevarran, the two blending together into something so uniquely Arivae, something Mica aches to hear just one more time. 

“I’m so sorry.” Petyr’s tired, hard eyes are heavy with grief. Mica stares at him, eyes glazed and dull.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Mica says. His voice is barely a whisper. “It was my fault.”

Petyr is quick to sit on the end of Mica’s bed, the cool metal of his prosthetic presses at Mica’s leg. 

“Mica, none of this was your fault.” Petyr says. “This was the work of Solas –“

“I took my eyes off him,” Mica snaps. “I should’ve been helping him, looking out for him.” 

“It was not your responsibility to babysit him.” Petyr shoots back. “Arivae was a competent and skilled mage, you had every reason to trust in his abilities. No one could’ve predicted what happened.” 

“I could’ve.” Mica sneers. “That is my job isn’t it? I observe situations, I think of all the outcomes, and I act. I get my hands bloody so you and your Inquisition don’t have to bear the weight of it –“

“You do not know the extent of the blood on my hands,” Petyr snaps, his voice burning. “And you do not understand the weight that I bare.” Mica falls silent; shame settles itself down on the back of his neck.

“Mica,” Petyr’s voice is soft again. “Arivae would not want you to blame yourself.”

“I know,” Mica whispers. “And that is the worst part of all of this. He was good and kind, brighter than any star I have ever seen. I am bitter and angry and broken and yet he was still the one of us that died.” 

“He saw light in you,” Petyr implores. “That doesn’t mean nothing now.” 

Mica falls silent; tears once again spill from his eyes. 

“I don’t know if I can do this Petyr,” Mica gasps. He clutches at the thin blanket that covers his damaged leg. “He was all I had.”

Petyr shuffles closer, careful and hesitant. He places his right hand on Mica’s arm. 

“You have all of us,” Petyr says. Kindness warms his eyes and voice. “You are a part of my family, a part of my hold, and I will not see you believing you are alone.” 

“Thank you,” Mica stutters, sobs breaking apart his words. 

Mica and Petyr sit there in the isolated world of Mica’s infirmary room. Petyr bows his head and murmurs an Avvish prayer; slowly Mica’s sobs fade away, until only the rumbling words fill the room. Hesitantly, Mica joins in; an elven prayer finding it’s way off his tongue into the air around him. 

. . .

Mica can stand on his own two feet two weeks after the attack. He climbs to the aviary, Alia having returned not two days ago. 

Alia sits at his desk, reading the reports that have piled up in his absence. Impeccable after a month on the front lines, he wears a thick black robe, the dark material trailing after him; his gold jewelry shines from his body. 

His sharp green eyes flicker up as Mica climbs the last stair; he motions to the chair opposite of him and Mica sits. 

“Mica,” Alia says, his mixed accent of Orlesian and Starkhaven garbles his name. “I see you have recovered.”

“One more week and I will be allowed to work again,” Mica says.

“Good,” Alia says. “I have tasks that need attending and we are stretched far too thin as it is.” 

“Yes, sir.” Mica nods. “If I may ask though, what action will we take in regards to the kidnapping of Arivae?” 

“Kidnapping?” Alia asks. 

“I never saw him die –“

“Your report clearly stated that you saw him carried off by warriors of Fen’Harel.” Alia says. “Are you saying something different now?” 

“No,” Mica says, “But as I said, I only saw him carried off. He could still be alive, they would torture him for information wouldn’t they?”

“Yes,” Alia says, leaning back in his chair. “But you know as well as I do that the torture conducted by the Fenmyelan is deadly. We have never had an agent return from it – why would Arivae be different?” 

“Because he was one of them once,” Mica says. “That would mean something to them – something to Solas.” 

“Yes it would mean that they would kill him all the quicker,” Alia flourishes with his hand. “To satisfy their anger over him abandoning their God, no doubt.” 

Mica stares at Alia, at his relaxed posture, at his casual speech, there is no urgency in his eyes, no compassion, nothing that makes Mica remember the young, half elven man that swept into his life and brought him up out of the ashes and rebuilt him into something better. 

“Do you even care?” Mica whispers, the unbearable hurt creeping into his voice. “Arivae was one of your daggers wasn’t he? He was one of your friends –“ 

“He was an agent Mica,” Alia snaps, spine straightening with steel. “Do not presume that I would let my personal feelings put him above anything else. Anyway, what did you hope to accomplish from this? Did you believe that I would organize a dashing rescue for him? That I would storm the main stronghold of the Fenmyelan?”

“Yes!” Mica shouts, anger clouds his vision. “Even if only to retrieve his body –“

“I will not waste lives over a corpse.” Alia hisses, poison in his voice.

“His soul will not find rest,” Mica stresses. “You would condemn Arivae to an eternity of wandering the fade?” 

Alia rises to his feet, he towers above Mica. 

“I would see my agents put to their best use, so that we can finally put an end to this war.” Arivae says. “I know that is what Arivae would want of me, and so that is what I will do.” 

“And what of me?” Mica asks, suddenly desperate for an answer. “That is what he wants of you, but what does he want from me?”

Alia’s emerald eyes blink slowly as he steps around the table till he stands beside Mica. He places a hand on his shoulder. 

“To endure.” 

. . .

Mica relearns the way his body moves. 

He trains in the dead of night, the heavy darkness a comfort as it presses down on his neck. 

No raven’s to spy on him, Alia asleep in The Bull’s room. Mica is safe to open; he swings widely with his daggers. He slashes the neck of every training dummy like he could not on the snowy plain. 

He prepares for the next morning where once again he will be a dagger for Alia to wield against the world. 

In the final hours of the night Mica learns to endure. 

. . .

vi. HEAT

Mica sleeps with someone a month after Arivae dies. 

. . .

For once they have a won a battle against Solas, and finally they begin to see the tide turning. Alia stands in the middle of the tavern, The Bull’s arm around his waist, shining and golden smiling as he is praised by inner circle and soldier alike.

It was because of him they had won this battle, Alia running to the war table as they planned the battle, new intelligence of Solas’ movements coming in a few moments before. 

Mica sits in the corner with the Chargers, drinking freely given drink after drink. Some come over to him to offer congratulations, he mutters halfhearted responses. 

As the night drags on the party only grows. Dorian and Petyr having left hours ago, Alia in Bull’s lap. Alia’s screeching laugh reaching all corners of the tavern as he listens to one of Az’s stories. 

Mica’s head swims, the heat and lights overpower him and he staggers up and out of the tavern. In the night air, the noise of the tavern dims to a faint roar. Mica collapses down into the grass. He pulls handfuls of it out, letting it fall slowly from his hands. 

He has finally relearned how to walk through this world again. He has learned how to wake up every morning and ignore the lingering cold that settles around him. 

Why does it decide tonight to bother him? 

Mica sees the gold light and warm and laughter and cheer and all he can think is how the one who deserved to see this is Arivae. 

. . .

Mica stumbles back to his room a few hours before dawn, the party still burning bright below him. The drink makes him stumble, his body warm. His head feels like he is swimming, confusion dragging down at him. 

He stops to watch the sky. He mumbles the names of the constellations to himself, feeling the ghost of Arivae’s hands on his waist, the hot breath as he whispered in Mica’s ear the names of the constellations, the way a heat flared in Mica’s stomach at the press of Arivae’s body. 

Mica’s hands clutch at the stone walls. He shivers suddenly, the memory of the warmth chilling him to his core. 

“Alright there?” Comes a voice. Mica turns his head, his blonde hair spilling over his face. Standing a few paces away is one of Alia’s scouts, Mica remembers as he tries desperately to recall his name.

“Fine.” Mica says. 

“Aye, no need to bite my ‘ead off.” The scout drawls and saunters up to Mica. “Look like you’re a bit unsteady, is all.” 

“I’m fine,” Mica repeats. 

“Why ain’t you at that party?” The scout shifts closer. “You were at the battle yeah?” 

“Yes I was,” Mica says. 

“So why aren’t you celebrating?” 

“I was,” Mica says. “I left.” 

“Well, yeah I saw you do that.” The scout leers at him. 

“You followed me out?” Mica snaps. 

“Well,” The scout smiles. “When you were the only thing worth lookin’ at, not much reason to stay if you weren’t there, you know?” 

Mica stares at him. This human’s eyes shine with intent, making no move to hide how he angles his body towards Mica, his eyes drag for ages over the length of Mica’s body. 

Slowly, Mica blinks. 

“What’s your name.” Mica demands. 

“Declan.” He smirks. 

“Come with me,” Mica grabs his arm, pulling him towards a nearby supply room. 

. . .

Arivae giggled when Mica lead him to one of the fancy Orlesian carriages. The two escaped the oppressive glares of the Ballroom, getting tired of watching Alia flutter from Noble to Noble, playing the Game with an expert hand. 

Mica fumbles with unlocking the carriage door as Arivae clutches at Mica’s waist, kissing down his neck. Finally, Mica manages to unlock the carriage, turning around and pulling Arivae in with him. Arivae kicks the carriage shut with his foot as they spill onto it’s floor. 

. . .

Mica lets Declan slam him against one of the damp walls of the storage room. The mold and mildew and sweat and alcohol smothers Mica.

Declan presses open mouthed kisses down Mica’s neck. Mica squeezes his eyes shut, his heart beating fast, his breath shallow. The stone of the wall scraps bloody lines down his back. 

. . .

The carriage windows fog up as Mica sits down in Arivae’s lap. Arivae’s head resting against the scars on Mica’s chest as Mica rocks back and forth. Mica looses his hands in Arivae’s hair, the black strands tangling around his fingers. 

The two don’t speak. 

Their hushed moans echoing like prayer, only for their ears. 

. . .

Mica pushes down tears as Declan pushes him to face the wall. The gravel digging into the deep scars on his cheek. Loudly, Declan moans, it reverberates against the enclosed walls. 

Mica feels sweat drip down his forehead. The salt of it burns as it hits his eyes, he can no longer close them, he forces himself to stare at the blurring grey of the stone. He forces himself to stay here, to feel the scrape of the stone, the burn of Declan’s hands, the oppressive heat of this room. 

He forces himself to feel this pain. 

It is better than the other. 

. . .

Mica and Arivae breath heavily, the mouths a centimeter apart. Mica’s eyes flutter open, meeting the sweet lavender of Arivae’s. 

A smile pulls on Mica’s lips as Arivae reaches up and pushes Mica’s sweaty hair out of his face, the pale blonde strands sticking to his forehead. 

“Can we do this for every party?” Arivae laughs. 

“Sure you can handle that?” Mica smirks. 

“Can you?” Arivae grins up at him. Mica rolls his eyes, smacking Arivae’s shoulder as he lifts himself off of Arivae’s lap. 

. . .

Declan stumbles from the supply room, a self satisfied grin on his face. Mica stays behind, slipping down to the floor as the door swings shut. 

He finally lets his eyes slip shut. The pale lavender he is slowly forgetting overwhelms him. 

. . . 

vii. STORM

The cries of the ravens wake Mica up, the news of a job tied to its leg. 

. . .

Mica stalks through the hidden alleyways of Denerim after a straggling member of the Fenmyelan. The cool calm of his work settles over him. He feels only the weight of his daggers on his back, the dark leather tight on his body. The only light that catches him is reflected off his golden gauntlets, bearing the hawk and serpent of Alia’s crest. 

Rain begins to fall, as it grows heavier he lets it fall onto him, darkening his blonde hair. 

He can already taste the copper of blood, the heavy scent of it still hangs from the air, a reminder of the Blight that the city can never wipe away. 

Mica reaches his checkpoint, and quickly pulls himself up on the roof of the buildings. The dark storm clouds press down on the city, casting it in grey. Mica’s eyes narrow as he catches sight of a shadowed figure, turned from him, a few rooftops away. 

With a silent step Mica leaps from building to building, staying low and drawing his daggers as he nears. When he pulls himself on the rooftop where the Fenmyelan stands, they whip around, pulling out her own daggers. The tall elf advances towards Mica, the wolf jaw proudly displayed hanging from her neck, her tan skin free of vallaslin. 

The two battle nearly silently, only the whistle and clang of their daggers can be heard over the distant crash of lightning and thunder. Mica ducks a slash at his throat, kicks out against the Fenmyelan’s leg, sending her staggering. Quickly, Mica regains his foothold, and with a quick movement slices her neck open. 

The Fenmyelan’s eyes open wide with shock, her daggers fall from her hands as she lifts them to her neck, desperately she tries to hold in the blood that spills from it. Her eyes roll back and her body goes limp, falling from the roof into the dark alley below. 

Mica breathes in deeply. He holsters his daggers before turning back around. 

As soon as he does his body seizes, lighting crawling over the rooftop to strike him. 

Across the roof stands another Fenmyelan the same wolf’s jaw hanging from his neck. He wields a staff, spinning it around again to slam into the shingles, more lighting arching towards Mica. 

He falls to the ground, his body seizing and shaking, his jaw clenches shut, a scream trapped in his throat. 

The Fenmyelan smirks and stalks over to Mica. Slowly, deliberately, he places his staff’s blade against the exposed skin of Mica’s neck. 

Mica shivers at the cold metal as his mind and heart race. 

As the Fenmyelan raises the staff again, ready to execute Mica. In that hanging second a bright burst of green light washes over the two of them, the shock of it blinding Mica. 

As Mica desperately blinks away the spots that dance across his eyes, he looks up to see another blade piercing through the middle of the Fenmyelan’s chest. The blade retreats and the Fenmyelan falls to the side, his staff rolling out of his now limp grip. 

Mica’s heart stops. A coldness washes over him that the warmth of the spring storm cannot pierce. 

Standing above him, dressed in black, hair longer, eyes burning that same lavender, is Arivae. 

. . .

vii. FIRE 

Mica relearns betrayal as the sun sets. 

. . .

Mica sits on the opposite side of Arivae’s make-shift camp on the border of the forest. The storm is miles away.

The fire snaps sparks as the two stare at one another. 

“I missed you,” Arivae whispers. Mica feels his confession wash over him, the honesty of it bites. 

Mica doesn’t answer him. 

“I’m sorry.” It bursts out of Arivae quietly, his voice quivers and nearly gives out. Mica looks up at Arivae slowly. 

“I saw them take you.” Mica says. “I thought you were dead.” 

“You had to believe that,” Arivae says. “It wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t.” 

“What wouldn’t have worked?” Mica bites, venom dripping from his voice. 

“I was spying on the Fenmyelan.” Arivae says. “I would learn where they were heading, how large the forces they were sending to the front lines. Alia needed information, we were losing. You know that.” 

“You could’ve told me.” Mica whispers, his voice nearly lost in the crackling of the fire. “Was there any doubt in my ability to keep a secret?” 

Arivae opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it. Shame darkens his eyes, slops his shoulders.

“What?” Mica says, short and sharp.

“Alia believed you would want to come with me if you knew what the plan was.” Arivae explains haltingly.

“So it was Alia’s plan?” Mica says, desperate to forgive Arivae, even if that desperation is hidden and smothered under his anger. 

“It was mine.” The confession slips as a whisper from Arivae. 

Mica’s eyes fall shut. 

“No one could know,” Arivae pleads. His voice is weak, trembling, soft. The sound of it grates on Mica’s ears, claws at his mind, drags on his heart. 

“Stop saying that.” Mica snaps. 

“It’s true, Mica please understand -“ 

“I don’t want to understand!” Mica yells, he stands and glares down at Arivae. He leaves the light of the fire, shadows casted over his eyes. “You left! You died! I mourned, we all did. Petyr sat by my side as I prayed for Falon’Din to find your soul and guide you through the Beyond.” 

Arivae stares up at him, speechless. 

“Did you even think of me when you agreed to this?” Mica asks. His voice hides his fragility, the ease of anger slipping over him. 

“I thought of you every day,” Arivae’s voice breaks, tears spilling from his eyes. He stands up, his hands twitch at his side, desperate to reach out for Mica. “I wanted to tell you, please Mica, ma alas’en, believe that.” 

Mica’s throat closes up at the sight of Arivae’s tears. The lavender of his eyes burn Mica, the fading memory turns bright and painful the longer Mica stares. 

“Mica?” Arivae whispers. Mica has not registered his own silence. 

“Do you know what Alia said to me?” Mica asks, bitterness sharpening his words. “When I asked what you would want of me in the wake of your death?” 

“I don’t.” Arivae whispers. 

“He told me to endure.” Mica says, his words frozen. “And now this is what you must do, because you will never hear words of forgiveness pass my lips. You must endure a life where you carry the burden of the pain you destroyed us with. And I will never forget this.” 

. . .

viii. RESOLUTE

Mica and Arivae fight side by side in the final battle against Fen’Harel. 

. . .

The world is being torn apart under their feet. Mica and Arivae stand resolute against the waves of Fenmyelan. The battlefield is deafening, screams echo through Mica’s head. His mind is blank, his body moves on instinct, and the only thing he feels is the burn of blood as it hits his skin. 

His daggers are a blur he can barely follow. 

Beside him Arivae cuts his staff’s blade through soft flesh. Sending out conjured boulders to crash and break ribs, around them fireballs rain from the ashy sky. 

Near them Bull and his Chargers crush foot soldiers, operating as the well oiled machine none can best. Az and her brother’s company fighting among them.

Varric, Hawke and Fenris stand together once again. They fight with a easy and fluidity; arrows, magic and sword so familiar to one another. 

In the distance Petyr calls a war song to the Almarri clans, their cries answering him, louder than the screams and fire that burn at them. Dorian stands strong against Petyr’s side, their hearts resolute as they catch each other’s eyes. 

Above them hang suspended islands of what was once solid ground. Above them Alia fights Merril, arrow against magic. 

Above them Din stands against Solas. Their love a burning open wound stretching between them. Unspoken, both of them plead at each other, their eyes burn with a desire for this to end. Above them, the tragedy of them destroys the other. 

. . .

The battle does not halt when Merril’s body drops limply from the rock where she and Alia had battled. 

Az and Bull freeze as they see her body slam into the dirt, a arrow protruding from her neck. 

“Kadan!” Bull screams, his voice rough as he and Az scan desperately for a sign of Alia. 

Varric squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look. 

“God damn it Daisy.” He mutters, the weight of his shame crushing. 

. . .

The end comes with a single moment of silence. 

The roar of magic comes to an end for a halting second, and in the next the floating islands come crashing down. 

“Look out!” Petyr screams. Mica stands, staring transfixed as the world above comes crashing down. 

Suddenly, Arivae grabs his arm, the touch jolts Mica out of his daze and the two begin to run. 

The rock Alia is on crashes first. As soon as the dust begins to settle Bull and Az run over, desperation propelling them forward. 

The rock that Solas and Din had stood on crashes last. As the dust fades away, Din and Solas’ prone bodies are visible to everyone on the field. 

Petyr takes a hesitant step forward, awe in his eyes. 

“She did it,” He mutters, taking Dorian’s hand as he falls to his knees, relief heavy over the two. 

Mica and Arivae stand, huddled together as Bull and Az make their way back over, Alia cradled to Bull’s chest. 

Arivae has not let go of Mica’s arm. 

Mica watches the dust and screams fade away, until only silence rings. He watches the world settle once again into peace. 

He does not pull away from Arivae. 

. . .

ix. LAVENDER

Mica finds the courage to seek out Arivae in the smell of lavender. 

. . .

An hour after Cole’s visit Mica finds himself standing under Arivae’s room. The room that was once occupied by Sera glows with the soft light of a lantern. 

Under Mica’s feet lavender grows with the spring flowers. The scent reaches Mica’s nose, flooding his senses. 

“Are you going to lurk there all night?” Arivae’s bemused voice comes from above him. Mica’s eyes shoot up, seeing Arivae pushing one of his window’s open to look down at him. 

Against his will, he feels his cheeks begin to burn red. 

. . .

Mica stands in Arivae’s room, the comfort of it barely reaching him. Arivae sits, staring up at him, hope barely daring to enter his eyes. 

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Arivae says. 

“Cole came to see me,” Mica explains. 

“Oh,” Arivae’s brown skin darkens. “What did he say?” 

“He said you missed me,” Mica whispers. 

Arivae looks down at his hands.

“Was he telling the truth?” Mica asks. 

“Why does it matter?” It bursts out of Arivae. “You said you would never forgive me and you are right not to!” 

“Am I?” Mica asks. “Have I not done more unforgivable things in this life? My hands and life drip with blood and you have never flinched to hold me.” 

“Because you have never hurt me,” Arivae says. “What I did was necessary, and I will never deny that, but I hurt you. And even if you have overcome that hurt and forgiven me, I never can.” 

“Then why did you want me to come?” Mica asks. 

Words die in Arivae’s throat. 

“Cole said you wanted me to come.” Mica continues. 

Slowly, Arivae nods. 

“I missed you too,” Mica confesses. “I missed you every morning I woke and believed you dead and every day I lived with the knowledge that you were alive. And I have lost enough Arivae, I am tired of it. I do not want to lose you too when you are still here.” 

“How can you trust me?” Arivae whispers, his voice trembling. 

“I never stopped trusting you Arivae,” Mica explains. “I was hurt, and furious and confused. But, after everything, after this war and what we’ve all lost, I can’t go another day with you not by my side.” 

Slowly, hesitantly, Mica reaches out and grabs Arivae’s hand, pulling him into Mica’s space. 

“And I realized I would rather forgive you then see you drift away until we are nothing more than strangers.” Mica whispers, looking up into the lavender eyes he has so desperately missed. 

Arivae leans down, his hands cradle Mica’s face as he kisses Mica softly, gently. 

. . .

After it is saved again, the world seems to freeze.

Mica wakes up after the party with a pounding headache and Arivae softly snoring in his ear. A smile tugs at his lips as he turns around. 

Arivae’s eyes move behind his eyelids, black hair beginning to curl free from his braid. Mica trails fingertips over his slightly opened lips. Slowly, Arivae’s eyes flutter open, the pale lavender foggy with sleep.

“What are you doing up? Is Solas back?” Arivae mumbles, voice slow and rough. “The world’s not ending again is it?” 

“Not yet,” Mica smiles. “Go back to sleep ma alas’en.” 

Arivae let his eyes fall shut again, quickly drifting back to sleep. Mica leans up, grabbing a robe from the floor he pulls it on as he steps out of bed. 

The soft dawn light begins to grow stronger, shining through the glass. Mica wanders over to the tall windows of Arivae’s room. He leans against it, watching the last of the night watch guards slowly make their way to the barracks. He watches the first of the day’s ravens begin to leave, no doubt the story of the Inquisition’s success against Fen’Harel tied to their thin legs. 

He watches as the first sun of the new world rises.

**Author's Note:**

> Elven translation: 
> 
> Fenmyelan - follower of the wolf
> 
> ma alas’en - my world 
> 
> Na din’an sahlin! - Now you die! 
> 
> Ir abelas - I'm sorry 
> 
> . . .
> 
> So in this Mica is trans btw.
> 
> Also Alia is the spymaster of this inquisition, a story explaining how he takes over from Leliana should be coming soon, but what you need to know about him is that he is half elf and in a relationship with Bull.


End file.
